Written for the Fanfiction Tournament finals (Hogwarts professors) and the Acrostic Competition (ch 5, I- interested)

"I had wondered where that broom had gotten off to," Rolanda says, entering the storage shed behind a suddenly blushing Oliver Wood.

The first year sheepishly sets the broomstick in its place, shifting his gaze to his feet. "I didn't think you'd notice," he admits quietly, wringing his hands together nervously. "I suppose you'll give me a detention now."

Rolanda considers for a moment. In all her years at Hogwarts, she's never had to hand out a detention. She's always let the proper professors do that. But taking a broomstick is somewhat serious. He could have been hurt, or worse.

After a moment, she steps closer, and Oliver looks up at her with nervous eyes. "That depends," she says. "If you can give me a good reason for sneaking into my shed, taking school property without permission, and running off and doing who knows what with it, I will let you off with a warning."

The boy looks longingly at the brooms that line the wall. His blush returns as he meets Rolanda's eye. "I'm not very good at flying," he says.

Rolanda almost laughs but thinks better of it. Oliver had proven to be one of the best flyers in his year. Sure, he had been a little rough around the edges, but nearly all first years are.

"And I wanted to get better, see. Next year, I want to try out for the Quidditch team, but I have to be the best if I want to make it. I thought... Well..." Oliver trails off, and he shifts his weight from foot to foot. "I thought that if I nicked a broom for a bit, I could get better. Maybe I could even be as good as Charlie Weasley!"

His passion sparks her interest. All of her annoyance at having to search for the missing broomstick melts away. "You're a good flyer, Oliver," she says.

"Good isn't good enough," he insists. "I have to be the best!"

Rolanda sighs. "Well, you can't if you're using these old broomsticks. These are the most basic models. Good for learning, but not for proper practice."

"But first years aren't allowed broomsticks," he says. "It's all I've got."

"And Quidditch really means this much to you?" she asks. "It's important enough that you're willing to break the rules to achieve your goal?"

Without hesitation, Oliver nods.

"You need a proper broomstick, for starters. But that rule does get in the ways," she says, tapping her chin lightly in thought. "But there's no rule stating that first years can't borrow a broomstick if supervised."

"Who's going to let me use their-"

"I will let you use mine, and I will personally help you with anything you have trouble with," Rolanda interrupts.

Oliver's mouth hangs open, and he stares at her like he's waiting for her to deliver the punchline. When she doesn't add anything else, he shakes his head. "Why would you do that?"

"Because I see a lot of potential in you. You're one of the best flyers in your year, and, with a bit of practice, you could be the greatest one Gryffindor House has ever seen. If you're really that interested in this, I see it as my personal duty to help you see it through."

A broad smile cracks over his lips. "When can we start?"

"Well, you've already been out flying today, so tomorrow after your last class."

"But, Madam Hooch, I can fly again today. It's still early!"

She grins. "Think of waiting as your punishment for sneaking into my shed. Now, come on, Oliver. It's nearly dinnertime."